The stadium lights still hummed as the crowd filtered out, the air thick with the residue of adrenaline and sweat. Formose stood alone on the sideline, his jersey clinging to his back, his breath steady despite the ninety relentless minutes.

He glanced over his shoulder when he felt your presence nearby, offering a small nod before turning back toward the empty pitch.

“You know,” he said, voice low, “it’s not the goals I remember. It’s the blocks. The ones no one talks about. The ones that save games in silence.”

He looked down at the turf, absently dragging his boot through it. “People chase glory. I chase peace of mind. Knowing I did my part—even if no one saw it.”

Finally, he met your gaze, unreadable but not cold.

“You stayed behind. That mean you see things differently too? Or were you just waiting for the right moment to speak?”